


Baker Street

by MoviesInMyMind



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Baker AU, Bottom!Sherlock, M/M, bisexual!John, possible future Mycroft Holmes/Greg Lestrade, top!John
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-05-28
Updated: 2015-06-01
Packaged: 2018-04-01 15:49:47
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 5,002
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4025734
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MoviesInMyMind/pseuds/MoviesInMyMind
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>On a rainy day, John Watson, underground food blogger, stumbles into a local cafe on baker street cleverly named, of course, Baker Street.  Nothing he finds there could possibly be more intriguing than the food.  Except perhaps, the handsome owner of the cafe.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. First Taste

**Author's Note:**

> Another story with the wonderful Works. We just started it on a whim but we definitely plan to make this one a multi-chapter fic.
> 
> \---
> 
> You keep calling me "wonderful." Can I now sing that song from Wicked without permission? I'm going to do it anyway. It's already too late; nothing can stop me now.

John grumbled as he stumbled into the small cafe. The rain had just appeared out of nowhere. Just like London to rain on you for no reason.

John took off his coat and moved close to the little alcove on the other side of the cafe where a fireplace was surrounded by small two person tables. Couples were dispersed among them giggling and wet from the rain or cuddling by the fire to warm. John just liked the view. He had soon learned when he became a food blogger that a seat in the “couple’s” section of every cafe, restaurant, and pub was quieter and had a much larger view of the rest of the cafe. It would give him more space to think and the couples were always too distracted by each other to bother him.

But the blog wasn’t why he was here in this particular cafe today. This time it just happened to be the closest warm place he could find in the sudden downpour. However, that didn’t mean that John couldn’t enjoy it a little bit. He decided to order some tea while he warmed up and then he could have time to decide if he wanted to brave the storm to get back to his crappy flat (When you have a food blog and don’t work for a magazine you don’t really get paid.) or he could order something to eat from this place and write some notes for his blog.

Though that decision was made for him when a plate with a couple of small biscuits was placed in front of him.

A tall man stood beside his table in a blue apron.  He looked as though he had just stepped right out of the kitchen.  He didn’t look at John’s face when he put the plate down, but rather at everything else about him.  “Definitely the shortbread.” He said.  He had a deep, but not altogether unfriendly voice.  “You’ve had a long day.”

John looked up at the man. “I… uh, I didn’t order anything.” The man was beautiful. If the food was as good as this man looked then he was going to be coming here a lot more often.

“Of course not.  Molly didn’t get a chance to take your order.  It just looked as though you needed it.”  He turned at looked at the counter then back at John.  “Tea?” He asked.  He didn’t bother fishing out a pad and pen.

John smiled, “Yeah, thanks.” This man’s behind was an even better view than his front.

The man waited quietly a moment.  “What kind of tea?” He expanded.  “I already know you want tea.”

John cleared his throat. “Oh, um, yes.” He blushed faintly and hoped the other man hadn’t noticed how he had gotten distracted. “Milk, no sugar.”

The man arched a brow at him before he turned on his heels.  He strode past the counter and into the kitchen so quickly John barely had time to watch him go. But he still managed another short glimpse. Yes, he was most definitely going to come back.

A minute or two later, the man reemerged with a full cup of tea and a saucer.  He placed it down carefully on John’s table.  “You know...most people would say something along the lines of ‘black tea’ or ‘mint’ when asked what kind of tea.  We have a full array of bags on the table.” He said.  He smirked at him as he leaned back up.  “And they would dress it themselves.”

“You guessed what I wanted to eat correctly. I figured that you would manage to get the tea right too. And if you didn’t then at least I would know what kind of tea you thought I liked.”

The man grinned, pleased.  “You guessed right.  But don’t come again expecting special treatment.” He said.  He picked up John’s spoon and mixed the tea to cool it.  Then, he poured milk into it from a small pitcher.  When it was all together, he picked up the cup and took a sip.  “Perfect.” He said.  He put it back on the saucer.  “Enjoy.”

John raised an eyebrow at the sip but decided to let it pass. He took a sip of the tea and smiled widely. “Brilliant.” He had gotten it just right.

The man had the look of a peacock preening.  “I’m never anything less.”  He waved a hand and turned to head back behind the counter.  He had other work that needed to be done.  “If you need anything else, simply wave over the waitress.” He said.

John nodded and took another sip. When the man was back in the kitchen, John decided to taste the biscuits. He pulled his cell phone out of his pocket and started a blank text for his notes. When he bit into the biscuit, he almost moaned. It was absolutely delicious. It was the best he had ever eaten, and that was saying a lot considering he ate and reviewed food for a living. John immediately began writing down notes in his phone while he took another bite. He almost felt like the biscuits and tea were gone too quickly. They were absolutely fantastic and he just had to write about them in his blog. It would be a shame for the world (or really his zero readers) not to know about this amazing food.

But first he had to ask permission from the owner to talk about the cafe. John waved over the waitress. She was a mousy girl who looked like she was afraid of most of the customers. But John got the feeling that she was a lot more than she looked. “Hi, Molly was it?”

The girl smiled at him and marched right up to the table.  “Yes.  Can I help you with anything?”

“Can I speak to the owner? I would like to write about this place on my blog.”

Molly turned to look over her shoulder into the kitchen.  She heard a sudden loud banging and a muffled shout.  “Um…” A cloud of flour puffed out of the little serving window.  “I’ll...have to check.” She mumbled.  She looked back at John with a half smile and hurried into the kitchen, doing her best not to look at all distressed.

A minute later, a tall man appeared, covered head to toe in flour.  It was the same one that had served John before.  He was wiping his face with a clean dish towel when he approached the table.  “Molly tells me you want to speak with the owner?”  He sounded completely calm.

“I’m assuming that is you.” John smiled.

“That assumption would be correct.” He said, wiping a clean line over his eyes.  A bit of flour fell around him, on the table and floor, covering the spot in a fine dust.

“I write a food blog and was wondering if you would mind me writing about your cafe. The biscuits and tea were amazing.”

“Of course.  You hardly need my permission.” He said.  He turned the towel over and tried harder to get at the flour in his eyes.  “People do that sort of thing all the time.  I believe that is the reason blogs are run in the first place.”

“I think it is more respectful if I ask first. I would prefer if I was asked before my work was publicly judged.”

“Fair enough.”  Sherlock sat himself in the chair across from him, still trying to clean himself off.  Every time he tried, he just got the flour from his hair into his face.  He set the towel down and ruffled his hair to get it all out.  He set it right again and wiped at his eyes one last time.  He blinked twice and then squinted at John.  “Are my eyes red?” He asked.

“A little. Here,” John leaned across the table and brushed some flour off the man’s eyebrow. He leaned back into his seat. “I’m John Watson, by the way.”

Sherlock rubbed his eye with the heel of his hand.  “Sherlock.  Holmes.” He replied.  Sherlock wrapped the towel around his shoulders and leaned into his chair, making himself perfectly comfortable at his customer’s table.  “Welcome to Baker Street.”

“I like the name.”

“Named after my address.  I found the pun fitting, given the location and occupation.”  He gestured at himself, covered over white.  “Three guesses what I do here.”

John smiled. “Hm… bake.”

“No.  I sit around chatting up customers and passing out free plates of biscuits.”

“That seems to be what you are doing with me, but I noticed the flour and assumed.”

“You assumed correctly, again.” He grinned.  “So, blogger, tell me: what did you think of them?  Might I have an estimate of your review?”

“It is only notes right now. Nothing fancy. I just said that the biscuits were amazing and the chocolate in them melted in my mouth, but not all over my hands. And that the tea was just right despite me not having to specify much.” John blushed slightly and smirked. “And over all the food tasted just as good as my server looked. I guess I have to adjust it to say the owner instead of just my server.”

Sherlock looked at John quietly.  Then, he smiled.  He hummed to himself, curiously, and took up his cup.  He took a long drink from it and leaned back in his seat.  “Interesting.” He purred.

John smiled wider. “Do you approve?”

“Of the review?  Certainly.”  He set down John’s cup, leaning forward on the table to do so.  He did not settle himself back again when he let it go.  “Of the compliments?  Most definitely.”  He lowered his gaze and smiled mischievously.  “And of you?”  He paused.

John leaned forward on the table. The space between them narrowed to a mere few inches.

“Yes.”

“Glad I meet your standard.”

“Well, I don’t exactly have any in particular.  However, you might have set a bar.” Sherlock said.  “There’s something interesting about you, and I don’t just mean a strong jawline or a tempting set of lips.  Something else.”  He looked him over as if trying to piece together what it might be.  Then he looked back at his lips.  “A very tempting set…” He mumbled, as if thinking.

John smirked when he realized how close they had gotten. He pulled back slowly and rested against the back of the chair.

Sherlock blinked once, as if waking up from some deep thought or another.  Then his eyes focused on John again.  He leaned back in his chair and crossed one leg over the other, looking casually to the side.  Beneath what was left of the flour on his cheeks was a faint flush of pink.

John glanced outside. “It seems that the rain has stopped. I should get going.”

Sherlock followed his gaze toward the window.  His brow furrowed slightly, the beginnings of what might’ve been a sneer. But it relaxed again just as quickly.

John noticed the slight twitch of irritation and held back a smirk. “It was nice to meet you, Sherlock Holmes. I’m sure I’ll be back someday soon.” He stood up  from the table and shrugged on his jacket.

Sherlock stood with him.  He fished something out of his pocket and held it out towards John.  He cleared his throat to gain his attention.  “My card.” He said.  “For...special orders.”

John did smirk that time. He took the card and let his hand linger for a moment longer than necessary. “I might just use it.”

Sherlock looked at some particular spot on the floor further into the cafe and shrugged.  “There’s plenty of time after the regular shifts for orders to be completed.  We close weekdays at eight.” He said.

“I’ll keep that in mind.” John pulled away and waved as he headed out the door.

Sherlock hesitated a moment and then waved back.  He smiled as the door closed, bringing with it the small chimes of the bell.


	2. Seconds

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Molly’s forced Sherlock to take a break, much to his annoyance. He thinks his day is going to turn out to be completely dull as always, until a certain blogger arrives a second time at his bakery. Things get decidedly more interesting.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> We used some direct quotes from the show for Sherlock's deductions. We changed a bit to fit the context of "Baker Street" though. I feel the need to mention that neither of us own the Sherlock franchise or are writers on the show. We are just really big fans.
> 
> \------
> 
> Some slightly bigger than others. And by 'bigger', I mean taller. Not to rub it in.

Sherlock walked tiredly, cup of tea in hand to one of the tables close to the fire.  Molly had insisted he take a break.  “You’ve been on your feet all morning!” She’d said.  “Go sit down—at least five minutes.  I can handle the rest in the kitchen.”  Furthermore, she’d insisted he at least take a cup of tea with him.  He’d refused a meal or even a decent snack.  He wasn’t hungry.  He stared at the steaming cup in front of him, debating whether or not he would actually be drinking it.  He settled for stirring it absently.  If anything, he just wanted to get back to his experimenting in the kitchen.

“Kicked out of my own kitchen..in my own bakery.” He muttered.  He closed his eyes and sank back in his seat, putting his feet up on the chair across from him.  “Honestly…”

Molly kept giving him looks as she passed by, taking customer's orders.  The looks said “don’t you dare move another foot” very clearly.  He closed his eyes again and pretended not to notice.

John walked into the bakery after a what had felt like months away but instead had been only a week. Even if it was a week of near constant work on his blog at less than good restaurants that were just looking for some advertisement and less frequent but just as irritating sessions with his therapist. When he entered the bakery, he felt himself relax in a way he hadn’t been able to all week. He smiled as he noticed the dark haired owner sitting at the same table where John had last time he was here. He strode over and looked down at Sherlock.

“Hello again. Mind getting your feet off my chair?”

Sherlock’s eyes opened and he blinked once in surprise.  He hadn’t heard John approaching.  He quickly hid his surprise and rolled his head on his shoulders dully.  “What makes you think it’s your chair?  You’ve only been here once; it could belong to someone more regular.” He said, giving him a look from the corner of his eye.  “Besides, I own all of them.” He added, a rightful air of ownership.

“Is there someone more regular?” John meant that to mean just that but it almost sounded like he was asking if Sherlock was dating anyone.

Sherlock eyed him curiously.  “Why?” He asked.  He removed his feet from the chair and leaned forward on the table.  He grabbed his cup and looked casually away, a look of indifference.  “Are you interested in knowing?”

“Wondering if I need to get a new table. If there is a regular that sits here.” John avoided asking what he really meant.

Sherlock smiled to himself.  He kicked the chair away for John.  “The position is currently unoccupied.  Please, have a seat.”  He took a sip of his tea, satisfied.  Definitely interested.

John smiled, “That’s good then.” He sat down across from Sherlock. “So what have you been doing that Molly forced you to go on break?”

“How did you know she forced me to take a break?”

“You look tired so you obviously needed a break, but you also looked angry about it when I walked in. So you didn’t want to. And Molly keeps looking over to check that you are still there. So Molly forced you to take a break.”

Sherlock smiled at him.  “Very deductive, doctor.  I’m impressed.”

John grinned widely at the compliment but then frowned slightly when he processed everything else. “Wait, how did you know that I’m a doctor?”

Sherlock’s smile became more of a self indulgent grin.  “I know you're an army doctor and you've been invalided home from Afghanistan. I know you've got a brother who's worried about you, but you won't go to him for help because you don't approve of him—possibly because he's an alcoholic, more likely because he recently walked out on his wife. And I know that your therapist thinks your limp's psychosomatic, quite correctly I'm afraid.”

He paused after he finished his speech and looked at him from over his cup.  “I’m a very observant man, Doctor Watson.” He said.  “That’s how I know these things.  Just how I knew what you’d order last week when you first came into my bakery.  It’s simple observance.”

John stared at Sherlock with his mouth gaping open. He shut his mouth and, after a moment, spoke only one word. “Brilliant!”

“You think so?” Sherlock let the surprise slip out in his voice.

John regained his composure. “How did you figure all that out?”

“Your haircut, the way you hold yourself, says military.  You’d stitched the cuff of your shirt from before with a lembert stitch, which only a surgeon uses.  So army doctor. Obvious. Your face is tanned, but no tan above the wrists: you've been abroad but not sunbathing. The limp isn’t really bad when you walk, but I’ve noticed the odd stumble from the way you entered last week.  You act like you've forgotten about it, so it's at least partly psychosomatic. That says the original circumstances of the injury were probably traumatic: wounded in action, then. Wounded in action, suntan: Afghanistan or Iraq.  Which I wonder?

“You've got a psychosomatic limp. Of course you've got a therapist. Then there's your brother. Your phone—I saw it when you were typing up notes for your review.  It's expensive, email enabled, MP3 player. But you're a small time blogger, low income, you wouldn't waste money on this. It's a gift, then. Scratches—not one, many over time. It's been in the same pocket as keys and coins. The man sitting across from me wouldn't treat his one luxury item like this, so it's had a previous owner. The back of the phone has been engraved ‘Harry Watson — from Clara xxx’.

“Harry Watson: clearly a family member who's given you his old phone. Not your father, this is a young man's gadget.  So brother it is. Now, Clara: who's Clara? Three kisses says a romantic attachment. Expensive phone says wife, not girlfriend. Must've given it to him recently; this model's only six months old. Marriage in trouble, then—six months on, and already he's giving it away? If she'd left him, he would've kept it. People do, sentiment. But no, he wanted rid of it—he left her. He gave the phone to you, that says he wants you to stay in touch.” He paused his ranting a moment. “You're living on a blogger’s salary and you're not going to your brother for help? That says you've got problems with him. Maybe you liked his wife, maybe you don't like his drinking.

“How can you possibly know about the drinking?” John watched him in wonder.

“Shot in the dark. Good one, though. Power connection: tiny little scuff marks around the edge. Every night he goes to plug it in and charge but his hands are shaky. You never see those marks on a sober man's phone, never see a drunk's without them.”

He grinned, finishing his explanation with a look of self satisfaction.

“Fantastic! But you did get one thing wrong.”

Sherlock’s eyes narrowed.  “What?”

“Harry is short for Harriet. She’s my sister.”

Sherlock threw his head back and groaned.  “Sister!  There’s always something!” He bemoaned.  He sat huffily in his seat, his cheek resting forcefully in his hand, arm against the back of his seat, glaring defiantly at the ground as though it were mocking him.

“The rest was amazing though. Why aren’t you a detective or something similar?”

Sherlock rolled his eyes.  “I tried it once.  Found the job incredibly boring: old ladies crying over a lost ring; young ones crying over cheating boyfriends or husbands; men going on about conspiracies in local businesses.  I was sick of being surrounded by the idiots.”  He rolled his head back toward John and fiddled with his spoon.  “Of course, I tried working with the police after—terrible mistake that.  Just as many idiots.  A wonder that just anyone can’t get away with murder.  So, I went on to baking.  I quite enjoy it actually.  A wonderful outlet, plenty of room for experimenting new recipes.”

“Sounds like you have your life figured out now.”

Sherlock hummed noncommittally.  “Still terribly boring work.  Local businesses don't attract much attention.  These people, as I’ve come to realize, have no brains as well as no taste.  But I don’t mind it so much.  I have more freetime this way.”

“Well, I certainly enjoyed the food. I have to say that I have tried food from a lot of different places and people, but yours is the best.” John grinned.

Sherlock looked up at him and set down his spoon.  “Well then, how about seconds?”

“Sounds good.”

Sherlock pushed back from the table and stood up.  The moment he did, Molly made a beeline for him.  Before she could complain, he put up his hands and said, “I’m just going to pop in for a moment, Molly.  Just for a snack, alright?  Then I promise I’ll sit down again.”

“Hi there Molly.” John attempted to distract her.

“Hi, John.” She said in passing.  She was still glaring up at Sherlock.  “I told you to sit.  You’re not to move from that spot.”

“He is just getting me something to snack on.” John smiled apologetically. “I promise once he is back I won’t let him leave.”

Molly stood her ground, pushing Sherlock back into his seat by the shoulders.  “No.  You’re staying right there.  I’ll go.”

Sherlock huffed and crossed his arms, sinking into his chair in defeat.  “Give me your order book.”  He demanded.  She handed him her book and he began scribbling on it.  He tucked it into her apron pocket, refusing to look at her as she left again.  “In my own bakery…” He mumbled.

John held back a laugh as Sherlock pouted.

Sherlock narrowed his eyes up at him.  “What?”

“You are obviously a genius, but you pout just like a child.”

Sherlock pouted at that.  “I do not pout.”

John couldn’t hold it back this time; he laughed quietly.

Sherlock looked away again and sneered.  “Maybe I’ll charge you for the snack after all.” He said.

“Oh,” John reached across the table to touch Sherlock’s arm. “I didn’t mean to upset you.” John tried to calm Sherlock while he got his laughing under control.

Sherlock looked at the hand on his arm and felt a warm rush in his cheeks.  He looked further away.  “Fine.” He mumbled.  “I wouldn’t be able to anyway.  You never ordered it.”

“True. So what will I be getting this time?” John leaned back.

Sherlock watched him retract his hand out of the corner of his eye with disappointment.  “Oh, nothing special.  A small bundt.”  One of his favorites, really: chocolate, liquid center.  Best served warm.

“What about to drink? Tea again?” John tried not to look too hopeful, but he absolutely loved tea and especially the tea Sherlock made him last time.

“Of course.  I hope you don’t mind, but I’ve ordered the same.  A bit lacking in variety, but it pairs well together.”  He turned his attention back to his own tea, wrinkling his nose at it.  Of course he had to have his own cup.  No chance of stealing from John this time around.

John smiled. “I really quite liked the tea you made last time.”

“Well hopefully Molly does it right.  I’d have done it all myself, but she keeps insisting I sit.  Says it’s good for my health or some other nonsense.”  He took a sip of his tea, halfway through it.  Then he looked up at John from beneath his brow.  “I can still dress it for you, if you like.”

John smirked, “Yeah, that would be nice.”

In another moment, Molly had arrived at their table, a small tray in hand.  She set down a small teapot in front of them, a bit to one side.  Following, she put down a steaming chocolate bundt on a plate with cream.  She looked at Sherlock pointedly, setting down two spoons.  As Sherlock stared at her, eyes wide, she grinned and fled the table, leaving whatever complaint he had dying on his tongue.

“Looks like you will have to eat some too.” John picked up his spoon.

Sherlock glared at the bundt defiantly.  “Hardly.  She’s made a mistake.  The other is obviously for your tea, just the wrong kind of spoon.”

John scooped a bit of the bundt and held it in front of Sherlock with a raised eyebrow.

Sherlock’s face turned thoroughly red as he looked at it.  “What are you doing?” He asked, his voice a bit tight.

“I’ll taste it after you have a bite. At least while Molly is ‘secretly’ watching you to make sure you eat.”

Sherlock’s eyes flitted over to the counter.  Molly was indeed watching.  Perhaps a bit too closely.  Definitely enjoying it.  He looked back to John’s offering, just in front of his face.  He swallowed a lump in his throat before obediently opening his mouth.  He didn’t look John in the eye as he did.

John watched him with a quiet smile. When Sherlock had eaten the spoonful, John scooped some for himself. It was amazing: the hot fudge center melted in his mouth, while the cake’s outer layer was fluffy and smooth. He did moan quietly this time. The bundt was just too good.

Sherlock’s ears turned a bit pink when he heard John moaning.  He cleared his throat, doing his best to compose himself again.  “Good?” He asked.

“Amazing. I take back my comment about you being a detective. That would deprive the world of your amazing baking skills.”

Sherlock nodded, trying to steady his heart rate.  He reached over and took John’s cup.  He added the bag to it and poured out the hot water.  He stirred carefully, cooling it.  He collected the tiny milk pitcher and waited while the tea steeped in the cup before dressing it.  By that time he was sure the redness had disappeared from his face.  He added the milk after taking the bag out again and pushed the cup towards John.  He kept the spoon, testing the tea to see that it was just right.

John took a sip of the tea. Just right again.

Sherlock set down the spoon again, looking over his shoulder.  He smiled.  Molly had wandered off again to help a customer.  He picked up his own tea and finished it off, his obligation fulfilled.  Then, he smiled at John, for no particular reason.

“What?”

“Oh, nothing.” Sherlock said.  It really wasn’t anything at all.

“Really?” John watched him confused. Sherlock had been staring at him.

Sherlock leaned forward, resting his chin in one hand.  He fiddled absently with his spoon.  “I was just looking at you.” He said.  He stared, his eyes fully focused on John’s face.  “That’s all.”  He continued to stare at John’s features, drinking him up.  And why not?  He had no tea left.

John flushed a light pink. “Oh.”

Sherlock smirked.  An idea popped into his clever little head.  John had left quite abruptly the other day, quite unfair the way he had.  Sherlock had certainly made the offer before.  And John had been completely heartless.  He’d have to get a little bit of revenge for that now, wouldn’t he?

Sherlock leaned forward.  “You know, I meant what I said before.  About you.  There is something very interesting there…” He let the thought trail, unspoken.

John leaned forward. “Oh?”

Sherlock smiled.  “Yes.  Definitely.  I don’t make a habit of mincing words, John.”

“So, there is a possibility you would say yes if I asked you out on a date tomorrow at, say… 8 o’clock?”

“I’d say there was a certainty.” He said.

John was close enough to feel his breath on his face as Sherlock spoke.  “Sherlock, would you like to go on a date with me tomorrow at 8 o’clock?”

A single word.  “Yes.”

John noticed how close they had gotten. There were only a couple inches he had to  breach and their lips would touch. John glanced down at Sherlock’s lips momentarily. They were pink and plump. Perfect for pouting as he had demonstrated earlier, or for kissing. John leaned in to try it, but he was suddenly stopped by what felt like a spoon. John pulled away slightly and arched an eyebrow at Sherlock.

Sherlock was smirking at him, holding up a spoon.  “Date first, John.” He whispered.

John laughed quietly again and leaned back into his chair. “It will be difficult, but I will just have to wait then.”

“Very good, doctor.”  He smirked just as shamelessly as he licked the back of the spoon, depositing it into his cup.

John narrowed his eyes at Sherlock. “You aren’t going to make this any easier are you?”

“Of course not.  You left me fidgeting for a full week.  I’m sure you can handle a measly 24 hours.” He stood up from his seat.  “Now, if you’ll excuse me, I think it’s time I got back to my shift.”

“I wonder if Molly will let you.” John smirked before eating his last scoop of bundt.

Sherlock walked around behind John, placing two hands firmly on his shoulders.  He knelt down and whispered in his ear, his voice deep and quiet, his breath warm.  “I think you’ll find that nobody can tell me to do anything that I don’t really want to do, John Watson.”  With that he stood and waltzed casually toward the kitchen, a protesting Molly hot on his heels.

John laughed again and finished his tea. He wrote down some notes on his phone about the bundt before leaving. He waved to Molly on his way out, receiving a wave in return.

Sherlock smiled at him as he opened the bakery door, the little bells ringing.  “Tomorrow.” He mouthed.

John smiled back and mouthed “8 o’clock” in return.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you again for reading.
> 
> \------
> 
> Yes, thank you. And you. And you waaaaaay in the back. Yes, we see you.

**Author's Note:**

> Please subscribe to Works. He is absolutely wonderful and has a few more stories written than me.
> 
> \---
> 
> Please subscribe to her. ^^^ She's going to be posting great stuff in the future; I'll be seeing to that.


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